


Love at the Drive-Thru

by 18yearold



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, One Shot, POV Bellamy, POV Bellamy Blake, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Strangers to enemies, insecure bellamy, well kinda i mean theyre not actual enemies they just butt heads a little at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18yearold/pseuds/18yearold
Summary: McDonald’s drive-thru operator Bellamy Blake should not be flirting on the job with customer Clarke Griffin. But he does anyways.





	Love at the Drive-Thru

It’s 7:30 AM and Bellamy wants to die. More accurately, he wants to sleep. But death would be nice too. Death is basically just sleeping. He’s happy he has a job, but he wishes he could have better hours at the very least. Unfortunately, college is a thing he has to attend, so it’s impossible to work normal hours. College causes all of his problems now that he thinks about it. He’s working this lousy job to pay for college.

A white BMW pulls up to the drive-thru, interrupting his mental crusade against college institutes. He adjusts his headgear and recites the line that’s ingrained into his brain at this point, “Welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try our Bacon Ranch Grilled Chicken Salad?”

“No thanks,” a feminine voice replies. Her voice sounds so pretty.

All week, every single person has responded to him with no. It’s such a stupid question. Who goes to McDonald's to buy a salad? They should at least have him suggest food that people are more willing to buy. Like a greasy McRib or a Big Mac full of cholesterol. The customers probably feel the same. He bets if he asked them…

Bellamy asks seriously, “Why not?”

The woman splutters, “What? I- I don’t know? Buying a salad at McDonald’s is a literal oxymoron. No offense,"

Bellamy smiles, someone gets it. He should take her order now, in fact, he has to, it’s literally his job, but he wants to keep talking to her for some reason. His lip twitches upward at the realization that she’s also a contradiction.

“You’re a living oxymoron,” Bellamy scoffs.

Bellamy glances at the drive-thru camera to gauge her reaction. He is not prepared for the sight that beholds him. Even through a grainy black and white screen, Bellamy can already tell she’s pretty — gorgeous really. A stunning — blonde it looks like — woman with her head sticking out of her car to speak. She looks around his age, probably nineteen. The girl is utterly ethereal. Her strands frame her face so well. Her wide — are they blue? They’re too light to be brown — eyes gape at the drive-thru speaker box. She’s really cute. Shit, she’s cute.

She asks in a scandalized voice, “What!? How!?”

Bellamy holds in a laugh to explain, “A rich girl eating cheap fast food seems like an oxymoron to me,"

She scrunches up her nose and God, she’s adorable.

“I’m not rich,” the blonde petulantly states.

Ah, probably one of those guilty rich kids.

“Car says otherwise,” Bellamy notes.

No one is in line except the girl, so he’s not holding anyone up with his inept flirting. Stop judging.

The blonde defensively retorts, “It’s my mom’s car!”

Bellamy laughs. As if that makes a difference.

“Rich mommy equals rich child,” Bellamy singsongs.

“No! That’s not the case at all! She has money but I- Why am I explaining myself to you? Can I just order already?” Bellamy would’ve thought she was angry if it weren’t for the screen showcasing her amused face. She’s more exasperated than angry. Probably baffled that a drive-thru operator is giving her sass.

“Aw, does the little princess not like being reminded of her wealth?” Bellamy taunts.

She snorts, “If I really were rich, I’d pay you to shut up,"

Bellamy chuckles, “What do you want to order, Princess?”

Bellamy feels a twinge of disappointment at ending his relentless teasing, but realizes he’s also on the job.

The girl huffs, “A small caramel frappuccino, please,"

Bellamy can’t help but snicker. He sneaks a glance at the woman on the screen, finding her waving her hands at the speaker box in exasperation.

She guffaws, “Now what?”

“Nothing. Just that most rich girls get their coffee from Starbucks,” Bellamy hums.

“I’m not into overpriced, headache inducing coffee. Shocker, I know,” she sarcastically comments.

Bellamy smiles, “$2.57 at the next window,"

“See you,” she says, voice sounding distant as she drives to the payment window.

See you. Shit. No. He can’t let her see him. He’s… him. And especially not in his McDonald’s uniform and cap. Sure, she already knows he works here, but to actually see someone wear their job is another thing. He’s never felt so nervous. He doesn’t even know her, why does he care what some rich chick thinks of him? His heart thuds against his chest like a drum. The sudden urge to wrap himself up in a cocoon of blankets overcomes his being. Instead, he opts for begging Raven, his co worker, to meet her at the window instead.

“C’mon, please. It’s just this one customer I don’t wanna deal with,” Bellamy pleads.

Raven squints at him, “Ex, huh?”

Bellamy pushes his curls back in frustration, “No, I just- Please?”

Luckily, she agrees. Bellamy hides in the corner like a coward, listening to the transaction.

“Hi, $2.57,"

“I- Uh, yeah. Okay,"

The woman sounds disappointed? Did she want to see him?

“Clarke is pretty,” Raven comments behind his shoulder.

“Huh, what?”

“I got your ex’s name from her card: Clarke Griffin,” Raven simpers.

Bellamy doesn’t even bother correcting her. Her name is Clarke. What if he just ruined his chances of ever meeting her face to face? No, think positive. Maybe she’ll be back tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————

He has to wait two agonizing days before she finally comes back. Every day was spent staring at the screen for a white BMW and asking his co workers if such car came by. He had basically accepted that she wasn’t coming back. He’s stopped checking the drive-thru camera, so it throws him for a loop when he hears her voice.

“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try our Bacon Ranch Grilled Chicken Salad?” Bellamy monotonously recites.

“Ah, you again,” the most pleasing voice he’s ever heard speaks.

Bellamy can’t stop the wide grin from overtaking his face. He checks the camera feed and — yep — it’s her. She’s wearing a button down and this time, her wisps of hair are pushed back into a ponytail. He considers it a privilege to see more of her face.

“You just couldn’t get enough of my sexy voice, could you?” Bellamy teases.

Clarke chortles, “More like I need coffee to function at work,"

Bellamy can’t help but ask, “Where do you work?”

She pauses, “I work at Starbucks. I know, it’s shocking; I don’t live off of a trust fund. I actually have a minimum wage job,"

Bellamy cackles into his headset, “Are you serious?! What?!”

She whines adorably, “I know, I know!”

Bellamy thanks the heavens she can’t see him gawking at her pretty face on the screen like a creep.

“You must really hate their coffee if you come here for a frappe instead of yours at work,” Bellamy comments.

“I really do. When I needed to take an Advil after a Starbucks frappuccino, it was kind of a deal breaker,"

A car behind Clarke loudly honks three times. He sighs, knowing he has to stop talking to her.

Bellamy growls into his receiver, “Fuckin’ asshole. What do you wanna order, Princess?”

“A small caramel frappe,” Clarke grins.

“You got it, $2.57 is your total,” Bellamy says.

Clarke thanks him and drives to the next window. He considers actually doing his job and meeting her then he passes by Murphy, his greasy haired co worker, and remembers he’s wearing exactly what he’s wearing. His hair is probably all oily too. He doesn’t want her to see him like that. Bellamy wants to be dressed to the tens, hair slicked back like some cool movie star, instead of unruly curls shoved into his McDonald’s cap.

One day, he’ll find the courage to stop being a wuss.

For now, he’ll just add extra whipped cream to her frappuccino and hide behind a wall until she leaves.  
——————————————————————————————————————  
She’s been coming in pretty much every weekday for the past three weeks. The short interactions with Clarke have become the highlight of his day. Ugh, he feels weird knowing her name when she doesn’t even know his, or know that he knows her name. He sees her pull up to the drive-thru and instantly a smile forms on his face.

“Welcome to Starbucks, are you interested in trying our new cappuccino, with extra migraine?”

Bellamy glances at the screen next to him to watch her roll her eyes at his antics.

“Hey Asshole. Can I get a small caramel frappe?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

Clarke sniggers, “This is why you’re an asshole,"

Bellamy jumps at the opening she inadvertently gives him, “I prefer Bellamy."

“What?”

He stutters out, “My— my name is actually Bellamy,"

Why’d he say that? She doesn’t care! Who cares about your stupid name—

“I’m Clarke, in case you want to put a name to the girl you’re tormenting,"

He decides not to creep her out by telling her he already knows her name. “Good to know,"

“I now know your name, but I have no clue what you look like,” Clarke muses.

“I’m nineteen and have black curly hair. Uh, I’m tan? I’ve got freckles on my face. Brown eyes,” Bellamy supplies.

“This is starting to sound like phone sex,” Clarke observes.

He cackles, “I’d get in so much trouble if that were the case,"

Clarke hums, “Is flirting allowed?”

He gulps, “Uh, I don’t know. No. Probably not,"

She quietly sighs and asks curiously, “How long have you been working here anyways?”

“Six months... I don’t— This isn’t what I want to do with my life. I go to college. I don’t plan on working here forever,” Bellamy defensively rambles.

“I’m also nineteen,” is all she says.

Bellamy has to shift the conversation back to lighthearted jokes. If she suggests he meet her at the window, he knows he’ll do it.

He feels this unusual urge of wanting to please her and make her happy; he’s gotta shut this down.

Bellamy types 100 Big Macs on the screen instead of her usual frappuccino and her shocked gasp and wide eyes are so worth it.

“Alright ma’am, your total is $462.57 at the next window,"

“One, I hate you. Two, never call me ma’am again,"

“Yes, ma’am,"  
——————————————————————————————————————  
Clarke doesn’t come in today. She usually comes in either early in the morning to grab coffee before work, or during her lunch break. It’s about the time she tends to come in, so he’s extra vigilant of the cars that come his way.

A car has just pulled in. He quickly checks to see which type of car it is. Not a BMW. It’s a grey Honda Civic. Of course.

Bellamy drones, “Welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try our Bacon Ranch Grilled Chicken Salad?”

An unusually high pitched nasally voice answers, “No thanks, can I just get a Crispy Snack Wrap and small fries?”

“Of course, $3.49 at the next window,"

Bellamy opens the payment window, “Hey, how you doin’? $3.49 is your total,"

The woman’s face is skewed by a black hoodie and sunglasses. She hands him her card, “Good, thanks,"

Bellamy goes to swipe her card and absentmindedly reads the name. Clarke Griffin. What the hell? Oh— Oh God. Clarke is-

He races to the window, “Clarke?”

The woman slowly unveils her hood and — oh God — it’s Clarke. Clarke Griffin in all her golden glory. Bright blonde hair tied into a braid and woah — she’s way prettier up close. She looks radiant. Bellamy is suddenly aware of his pit stains and the unruly curls that stick to his forehead. He pushes his messy hair into his cap, then remembers that it’s a McDonald’s cap. He flips the hat backwards to hide the ugly, yellow “M”. He straightens his back to preserve some dignity.

Bellamy clears his throat, “I’m hot, I swear,"

Well that didn’t come out right.

Clarke raises an eyebrow, “What?”

He nervously stammers, “I mean, I’m generally not this gross looking? I know I look—”

She interrupts his word vomit, “Bellamy, you’re really hot. Shut up,"

He wipes his clammy hands on his pants, “Seriously? Even in this McDonald’s uniform? And my gross hair?”

“You’re the personification of ‘tall, dark, and handsome,’ and you aren’t even a little bit gross,”

Bellamy smiles down shyly, “Yeah well... Thanks. Did you really fake your voice, change your order, and drive a different car to make sure you’d see me?”

Now Clarke is blushing and reduced to a stuttering mess, “I mean— I had to! You refused to see me face to face. Why— Why didn’t you want to see me?”

Bellamy sighs, “I don’t... I’m... I work at McDonald’s and I can’t afford 100 Big Macs. I liked talking to you and didn’t wanna ruin it with you cringing at my uniform,”

Clarke smiles kindly, “I already knew your job. I’ve told you, I’m not rich—”

“But your family is rich. That basically makes you rich by default. This job, it isn’t anything new to me. I’ve been working shitty jobs like this my whole life. I’ve always been po- not well off. It’s one thing to hear a McDonald’s operator flirt with you, it’s another to see who is flirting with you — a dude in a McDonald’s polo,” Bellamy snorts in self deprecation.

“You’re right, I was born into wealth. Starbucks is the first minimum wage job I’ve had. But, that doesn’t make me more superior or something. I’m looking at you right now in your mustard stained McDonald’s polo and I still like you,”

“I... I like you too,” Bellamy musters.

A truck honks loudly behind them adding to the utter romance of Bellamy admitting he likes a girl at a McDonald’s drive-thru.

She smiles at his irritated scowl, “How about Saturday we go out?”

He can’t help but say, “I’ll take you to Starbucks,”

She barks out a laugh, “Oh my God, forget it!”

“I’m joking! I know you prefer McDonald’s,” Bellamy says, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. As if he’d ever take this amazing girl on a date to McDonald’s.

“I really want to punch you,”

“I’m off at five. Punch me then,” Bellamy smirks.

“I will,” Clarke promises.

**Author's Note:**

> A simple comment makes my day :)


End file.
